


Mimic

by retrowavesasquatch



Category: Cyberpunk & Cyberpunk 2020 (Roleplaying Games)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Sex, Nonbinary Character, Oral Sex, Other, Referenced Public Sex, Referenced violence, Trans Male Character, Werewolf Reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:14:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27248611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/retrowavesasquatch/pseuds/retrowavesasquatch
Summary: A Cyberpunk 2020 take on Aleksei and Dior's relationship.Aleksei is nonbinary, and uses he/him pronouns. Dior is a trans man, and uses he/they pronouns.
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

In the quiet dark, the door opens and shuts. It’s his home. His apartment. His stuff. What did I expect? Maybe that he’d vanish? Someone knows his secret, so it’s time to move on. It’s wishful thinking, and selfish. As much as the sound of that door fills me with dread, it’s comforting. I know where he is. The knowledge knots in my guts and makes my palms sweat. He’s home. It’s home.

The blue and red neon outside the window casts harsh violet shadows through the blinds and across the ceiling. Heels click against the floor, pausing longer than usual. The key card has already clacked into the bowl on the counter, his coat is already hung in the foyer, the zipper and buckles jingling against the leather. Why is he so still?

I try to keep my breathing even, slow and steady. It’s hard, and my heart’s racing. It makes the edges of my vision darker. The heels are muffled against the rug, and I can hear the faint rustle of fabric. He’s in the room and I can’t look at him. I’m afraid of what I’ll see.

Warm yellow light cuts across the violet. When the faucet turns on I can take a gasping breath. Seconds tick by agonizing slow as I listen to him in the bathroom. The splash of water, the faint scent of that charcoal soap he likes so much. The only soap he could stand the smell of. 

Clothes shift, the slippery sound of silk, and then bare feet lightly pad across the room. There’s a pause, and I can practically feel how he stands there, gripping the hem of his slip like he does when he’s nervous. His shadow is black, distorted as it snakes across the ceiling. There’re no pointed ears, no long snout. It’s just him.

The mattress dips and he lays beside me. I can’t move. I want to run, but to where? There’s nowhere to go. It’s his home, but it’s mine too. The den of a monster.

When I close my eyes I can’t escape it. Blood splattered across the asphalt. I heard the wet sound of entrails hitting the ground before I saw them spooling out of that poor bastard like rope. There it was, behind him: The monster from Court Apocrypha.

I’ve lived with it for three years. The thing that tore through those people, my friends, my little cousin. The thing that had stood in the center of the dance floor, surrounded by carnage, yet spared me. It knew I was there. Those eyes bore right into mine. I never forgot them. I should’ve noticed his eyes were the same. Pale green, slow to blink, and when the light catches them just right, the pupils shine like fire. I’d just assumed they were implants. I never asked, and he never mentioned them.

Beside me, I listen to him breathe. He isn’t asleep. Then there’s a sharp inhale, a wet sniff, and a shaking exhale. The one thing he’s never been able to hide are tears. I’ve only seen him cry once before after he’d gotten news that his mother had died. Everything stays bottled up until the cork pops, and it’s apparently a deep bottle.

He’d looked like he was on the verge when I lowered the gun. A mournful beast. Like his heart had shattered when he looked up and saw me standing there. I’m sure Willow was pleased with herself. “ _Don’t you see, he’s just a facsimile of a human_.” She still had a smirk on her lips when her head stopped rolling.

If he hadn’t’ve turned on her, I probably would’ve shot her. Just for ruining everything. Things were finally going well. I would’ve proposed to him and never had a clue. We could’ve lived in ignorant bliss. But for how long?

I’ve never been able to pull the trigger. Even face to face with the monster who’s resided in my head for three years, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. “ _When I close my eyes, I can't see their faces anymore. It's just you. It was always you._ ” At that moment I hated him. I hated him for buying me a drink, for walking me to my shitty capsule room without expecting anything more than a “goodbye”. I hated how much I loved him. Love him. I love him. I dropped the gun, and he stared at me with those candlelit eyes. It was the same stare from three years ago. The kind that saw right into your soul. Bloodstained ropes of saliva hung from his jaws. It was frothy at the corners of his mouth, almost pink.

The knot in my stomach tightens, it pushes the cheap tamales we had for dinner up my throat, as I roll onto my side. He’s got his face covered, hiding. The neon light is just enough to catch on the tears that leave glistening trails to his ears. Hiding’s a habit he’s been trying to break. We’d discussed it when I realized he was too shy to voice his discomfort over having his feet touched. I take his wrist out of instinct to pull the hand away. 

There’s no glow behind those pupils. It’s the same face I’ve woke up next to for three years and change. The same drooping right eyelid, the same slightly off-center nose, and hollow cheeks. There are so many things I want to say, to ask, but all that manages to push past the jumble in my head is: “Why?”

“They- I,” he takes a breath. “They were a mistake.”

A mistake. Twenty-eight people were a mistake. Before I can say anything, he tells me haltingly, that he’d been given false information. His target had caught wind of his presence and laid a trail of bread crumbs. “They shot me. I only meant to kill the two, but one got loose. I couldn’t let it escape.”

It? “But you let me escape. Why?” When he doesn’t answer, I want to shake him. I want to hurt him. To slap that look of confusion off his face. “Why, Lexxy?”

“I don’t know.” He curls up onto his side and looks at the spot beneath my chin. “I don’t know.” He repeats, and I believe him.

He isn’t human, but he wasn’t when we met. Who, or more importantly, what is the real him? I know Aleksei Lebedev exists. His records prove it. Born right on the outskirts of a war zone, attended university with outstanding marks, and then floundered. His job record is sparse and spotty. Low paying entry-level positions that never lasted more than a year. Someone like that could just as easily been replaced without notice or care. 

A facsimile of a human. “ _You mean you’ve never fallen in love before? Not even a crush_?” He’d flushed right to his ears, and had tried to hide it behind the rim of his glass. Fuck, he’d looked so beautiful that evening. Both of us were sloshed on Sea Breeze. That night had been the first time I kissed him. His mustache had smelled like oranges.

It’d taken over a year of dating, of fucking, before he shyly admitted to being in love. I almost didn’t catch it. He’d whispered it against my hair. Had that been a lie? A facade? 

Was this morning all just a part he was playing? It’d been his idea to be fucked against the window right as the morning sun crested the skyline. If our neighbor was going to keep filing complaints about indecency, then we’d give them a real reason to file. That couldn’t have been. That had to be real. The way he’d slipped on lube, and pulled me down with him. He doesn’t laugh often, but he had then. That ugly little gremlin cackle of his that never fails to make me smile. 

“Why me?”

He never answers. Not verbally. His arms wrap around me, and I feel his breath against my chest. I don’t know what to do, and maybe he doesn’t either. Tea tree, lavender, and an animal smell cling to his hair. Two people were dead in an alley. The thing that had raked gouges into Sera so deep that she’d had to be identified by her implants’ serial numbers, has his face hidden against my neck.

One bite. That’s all it would take, and I’d be just like them. Another pile of meat for the cops to push onto the newest recruit. His teeth are so close to my skin.

Tonight I would’ve asked him to marry me. I’d planned for us to take a detour down South Main to BioTech’s public gardens. The place where he’d cornered me against a cloned oak after a night of being misgendered at every Gutter terminal because it registered my voice as a feminine tone. 

I’ve never forgotten the sight of him on his knees, his mustache, and the tip of his nose glistened as he leaned against my thigh. The sound of his breathy “ _cum for me, daddy_ ” had sent me right over the edge. He didn’t give a shit about getting dirt on his silky pants, or stains on the front of his blouse after I came way quicker than I expected.

This is the person who bought silk pillows after I spent the night once. 

A facsimile.

Could I ever ask him now? I pull him close. Beneath my hands, he feels so familiar. It’s so much to process, but we’re both breathing, and we’re both here.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aleksei and Dior's first date

_“Wild animal kills 28 at local nightclub.”_

_“Mutants could be walking among us!”_

_“Creature seen at Court Apocrypha, could it be a costume?”_

_“No leads in the massacre that has temporarily closed the doors of Court Apocrypha.”_

I kept going back to it. I kept searching for it. I know it’s unhealthy to keep circling around a traumatic event, to keep reliving it, but the question still hangs over me: Why wasn’t I number 29? What stopped it?

The new theory going around the true crime circles is that it’s a suit, a really well made suit. One or two dipshits claim the deaths were actors. I’d love for them to say that to my Aunt Clementine’s face. To mine. I watched Sera die. It had dashed past, and before we even knew what’d happened, her head dropped, followed shortly by her body after it stumbled a few steps. She was still fucking blinking.

For the past three months, I’ve just been in a numb state of waking up, going to work, browsing news sites, and then going to bed. Just existing, and trying not to dream. There’ve been moments where it’s gotten so bad that I’m tempted to lift some sleep aids from the pharmacy. The debt from my top surgery is the only thing keeping me from it. I can’t risk my job, at least not until that’s paid off. 

Celine and Mercury have been poking me to get out like we used to. More so lately, since Court Apocrypha’s opened back up, which means it’s back in the news. Mercury calls it a distraction. A night out can cure a lot of ails, at least in their opinion. They assured me it’s a small club with plenty of exits. Most clubs and bars had beefed up their security since the massacre and implemented a firm no vanity pet policy. Some places even banned holopets and suits. 

The latter nearly made me turn them down. I’d feel safer being able to hide behind my holomask. Khan Goldenclaw can face a crowd better than me.

Against better judgment, I caved. Maybe getting around people who aren’t commuting to work, or making their way home after a late night will do me some good. 

“We don’t have to stick around if you’re not feeling it,” Mercury had promised, elbowing me as we bumped against each other on the ride over.

I wasn’t feeling it when I left my apartment. I still wasn’t feeling it on the bus, and I’m sure as shit not feeling it when we walk through the doors.

Purgatory is upscale, or at least they thought they were. They have the whole Dante’s Inferno theme going. The drinks are pricey, so I’m limiting myself to one to nurse throughout the night. A gold, bubbly drink called Greed. It’d be good if it weren’t for the metallic aftertaste. I should’ve gone with Lust and just asked the bartender to not add the aphrodisiac. Those eddies are gone, so I’m stuck with this peach and battery cap flavored cocktail.

At least the music is alright, but the bass is so strong it’s hard to make out much beyond it. Even though the dance floor isn’t tightly packed, it still feels claustrophobic. With Celine off to the bathrooms, and Mercury glued to the bar, I’m left adrift in a sea of bodies.

The tendrils of panic are starting to creep in. I’m not close to a way out, and I don’t have anyone to distract me. It’s too loud. It’s too crowded. There are so many dark corners and skeletal spires. Anything could be hidden away there. It could be there, watching. Not wanting to ruin the night, I weave my way to the edge of the room, seeking a booth to slip into. If I could get somewhere quiet and take a breath, maybe I could start enjoying myself.

The main floor is too busy. All the tables are taken, and the booths are packed. I still didn’t see Celine as I passed the bathrooms, but she did like making some extra money on the side. So it could be a while. Past the bathroom hallway is a staircase that leads up to the VIP lounges. I know there are usually some standing tables overlooking the dance floor. Thinking I might have some luck, I head up.

It’s tighter here, darker and more intimate. Only a handful of people stand near the railing around the tables. A free one is at the end of the hall right in front of one of the roped off lounges, meaning my back would be to the two bouncers who stood watch at the doors. It’s better than nothing and better than standing there looking lost.

Mercury is still at the bar chatting up the guy stuck behind it. They’re doing what they do best, talking someone’s ear off in the hopes of getting free drinks just to be shut up. It looks like it’s working. I scan the ebb and flow of crowns for Celine but don’t see her rose gold hair with its brown roots.

My drink’s mostly faintly flavored water now. I swirl the melting ice around as the prickling feeling of being watched creeps up my back. Normally I’d ignore it, but I’m already uncomfortable and on edge. I play it cool and mask glancing over my shoulder as getting some hair out of my face.

It’s not the bouncers, they’re eyeing the suspiciously young looking group who’re making their way up the stairs. Past them, on a velvet couch, lit by the red shade covered lamps, they sit like a queen. Even in the low lighting, they wear sunglasses. There’s a guy in their lap whispering something against their ear, but they don’t seem interested. His hand is tucked into their black fur coat, while the other holds a half empty glass of something very blue.

I should’ve turned back around, but I can’t look away. They remind me of those big cats people pay outrageous sums to pose next to. Just utterly regal and absolutely bored. The guy in their lap is only being tolerated for now, and it’s not long before they stand, dumping him quite literally. Over the music, I can hear the offended “you fucking bitch!”

My heart is racing as they walk towards me. Fuck they’re tall, and I look so insignificant reflected back in the mirrored lenses. They ask me to dance, leaning in close so I could hear over the music. Their breath is warm against my cheek and smells faintly of cigarettes, rum, and ginger. 

I can’t say no. I don’t want to. People who look like that never gave people like me a second glance, at least not outside of my holosuit. The closest I’ve ever gotten to someone like them was when they came in for blood work or to piss in a cup.

I didn’t trust myself to speak. I could only nod like an idiot.

They lead me back into the VIP lounge. I hurry past the bouncers before they could decide whether I belong there or not. The music is more intimate. You could actually make out beats beyond the throbbing bass on the main floor. The low, warm lighting is flattering for everyone. Especially them. It glitters off the mirrored lenses as they look down at me.

From my periphery, I see the guy who’d been in their lap. He’s pissed, but not enough to try and start shit. Just as he had been before, he’s forgotten about when the pretty stranger leans in close. I can’t make out what they say, it’s not English or Chinese. All I know is it sounds sexy, and their nostrils flare a bit. They smell so fucking good. Like cigarettes, orange blossom, and something else; something musky and wild. They smell expensive.

The world shrinks to just us. I don’t feel the crowds or the anxiety over the single door in the room. All of my attention is on them, and how gracefully they move. How warm their skin feels beneath my palm, the glide of silk as they dance, and how the black fur catches the orange and pink light. Their touch is whisper light and electric. Long nails graze across my neck, making me shiver.

“Do you want to go somewhere quieter?” They ask. Their voice is slow, with odd pauses, like they’ve carefully thought out each word.

I feel their talon-like nails tickle the back of my neck. The answer should be no. I don’t know this person. I haven’t even spoken to them out loud for fear of tripping over my own tongue. People are dangerous. They look dangerous. When I look up to those mirrored aviator glasses, to that expressionless face with its sharp cheekbones and curled mustache, all I can do is say: “Yeah.”

This isn’t how I expected my night to go. My original plan had been to hang for a bit, then once Celine came out a few hundred eddies richer, we’d bounce. I’d come home to an empty room, check my messages, see if I had any new commissioners, then go to bed.

I’d expected somewhere quieter meant heading to the Ninth Circle, Purgatory’s exclusive basement lounge. Not many knew about the place, but I’d heard about it from Celine, who’d partied down there a few times. This person seemed like the type who knew about it.

In hindsight, I probably should’ve been way more cautious. I probably should’ve asked where exactly we were going the second we stepped out of Purgatory. The thought never crosses my mind.

Instead, I followed a stranger to a little bar four blocks away. We walked. It was a chore trying to keep up with their long strides. Their heels echoed on the concrete, and their long hair fluttered in the breeze. They looked like a runway model, and the sea of bodies parted for us easily. No one shoulder checked us on the way, no one cut us off to preach about secret aliens and conspiracies.

The place we end up is called BluBell. A bar that was trying really hard to be an old world cafe in an area that didn’t need or want one. It had outdoor seating with iron fencing to wall you off from the foot traffic, and little twinkling LED lights wrapped around the railing. At least the drinks were cheaper, and they had food.

It was there I learned his name, Aleksei, after about the third round of drinks. He’d started with champagne, then after trying a sip of the Sea Breeze I ordered, got one for himself. I was glad to have a menu in front of my face when he just bluntly said to the waiter: “I don’t want this,” and shoved the glass of champagne into his hands.

We talked for nearly three hours. Well, it was mostly me doing the talking while he listened. It just felt nice, like I could tell him anything without judgment. It was one of the few times I’ve chatted with someone who didn’t seem to be feigning interest while counting down to when it was time to hit the sheets. There was no lull in the conversation, save the hot second it took him to decimate a basket of chicken nuggets before I could really register he’d even ordered them.

The conversation turned to relationships by the fourth Sea Breeze. I was shocked when he told me he’d only had one, and the blasé way he spoke about it, made it seem like it wasn’t more than a friends with benefits situation. “Did you love him?” The question pops out before I could stop it. Fuck me. I was so worried I blew it by dragging up bad memories because he got quiet. Then he tilted his head and frowned a bit. “No,” he said, but it seemed as if he wasn’t sure.

At that point, I was too drunk to know when to stop pushing. There had to be at least a crush. Someone he couldn’t stop thinking about. That gets a reaction. I catch it before he quickly lifts the glass to hide behind the rim. A blush had crept along his cheeks. It was a blink and you miss it reaction, but I swear I saw it.

I’m curious, but I don’t want to push it too much. If he doesn’t want to answer, then he doesn’t have to. This is the nicest night I’ve had in so long, and I’d hate myself if I scared him off. 

Afterward, he escorts me to my complex. I’m unsteady on my feet, and despite drinking just as much as me, he’s still as solid as a tree. A tree in four inch fuck me pumps. He walks me to my door, and I see just a hint of emotion on his face. When he says, “have a good night, Dior,” there’s a brief smile that tugs the corners of his mustache up.

All I can think of is how nice it must be to kiss him, and how much I’d love to see his eyes. He’d felt so good dancing with me, against me. It’s the first time I’d felt comfortable and safe since that night. 

“You too,” I say, and stand in my doorway. My room’s empty, and the sound of his heels echo down the hall. How many chances would I get like this? He’d been happy to leave without trying to pressure me into anything. He hadn’t been a creep; a bit weird, and quiet, but not a creep. You don’t meet many people like that just out of the blue. Not one that looks like him.

Before he gets too far, I call out and ask if he wants to come in. It’s late, and I didn’t know how much of a commute he’d have waiting for him. I also fully expect him to turn it down. We’ve just met, and he might not be as into me as I am him. Instead, he stops and looks at me. I can see his hand clutch the edge of the fur jacket as there’s a long pause. Then he just walks in, right past me, like he’s always lived here.

I’ve had one night stands. I’ve fucked plenty of people on the first date. I’ve never brought someone home before. It’s not that I’m ashamed of where I live. My place is alright, if a bit small. It’s just safety precautions.

There’s an awkward moment of standing there. I don’t exactly have a sitting area. It’s just my bed, the counter, and the stacked bins I keep my holosuit parts in. Aleksei looks like a shadow in all black under the brighter overhead lights. He never takes the glasses off, but I can see how the lines at the corners of his eyes deepen. He’s squinting.

It feels weird turning the lights down, like I’m expecting sex. However, once they’re down to just the lights under the cabinets, he takes the glasses off. I finally see his eyes, and they’re gorgeous: Long dark lashes, a hint of black eyeliner to emphasize them, and blood red shadow across his lids. It makes the pale green stand out, and the faint yellow glow of eyeshine look otherworldly.

I assume he’s got Low-Lites. Likely first gens, since those had issues with sensitivity, because they stopped adjusting to changes in lighting within weeks of installation. It’s hard to find them now, at least outside of the black market.

Those eyes slowly scan the space. He pauses at the wall next to the storage bins, where I have some of my favorite pieces I’ve had commissioned of Khan. I brace myself for the inevitable judgment or questions, but he never says a word. Just a slight tilt of his head is all there is, then he moves on, back to me.

My heart is pounding in my ears as he approaches me. I almost miss the glasses, because being in the direct line of his gaze is intimidating. Aleksei steps out of his heels and sinks to his knees. By the time he unzips my pants, I realize I never told him about the packer. Before I can say anything, he grips the silicone in his hand, lifting it out of the way. He never takes his eyes off me as his tongue slips between my thighs.

I’m scared to touch him, but I want to. He feels so fucking good with his nose buried in my hair and wedged up under that cheap packer. The least I can do is deactivate the magnet and toss the packer on the counter. With more room to play, he takes me by the hips and encourages me to step a leg out of my jeans. My thigh rests on his shoulder, and I’m glad for his steady hands because my knees are about to give out.

“I feel like I should be getting charged by the hour,” it slips out before I can stop it. This is why I hate drinking. Whatever pops into my mind will not stay in there for long.

Aleksei lifts his head. His long hair has fallen over his shoulder like black spider webs. There’s nothing on his face, save for the wetness that clings to his mustache and chin. The lack of expression is worse than if he’d been visibly indignant or angry. “If you insist. My rate starts at 200 an hour.”

I’m left gaping like a fish until I catch it: The slight wrinkling at the corners of his eyes; the extremely subtle upturn of his lips. I pull him to his feet and guide him to the bed, “do you take any IOUs?”

He hums, sitting on the mattress and leaning back on his elbows. The fur has fallen off his shoulders, taking one of the dress straps with it. The silk stops right above the swell of his hairy breast. “I could be persuaded.”

There isn’t much persuasion needed. When fingers prove not enough for either of us, I let him choose from the handful of dildos I had. They’re nothing compared to the new Mr. Studds, which have realistic sensitivity, but they can get the job done. 

Aleksei’s cock presses against my back while he leans over my shoulder to peer in the drawer. He makes a strange noise as he looks over his options. It’s an odd rumbling sound that I can practically feel vibrate through me. His nose bumps my head, and I hear a distinct inhale. “That one,” he says, pointing a boney finger to the largest of the lot.

It’s so much and I can’t get enough of him. Aleksei let me take the reins, and I don’t know if I could ever put them down again. He’s gorgeous beneath me and intimidating when he rolls me over to settle into my lap. It’s intense, and his movements are just as fluid as they were on the dance floor.

I catch a glimpse of sharp teeth. His premolars are massive, like a dog’s. It’s a blink and you miss it thing. Vampires are usually installed where the canines are, but that doesn’t mean you couldn’t get them elsewhere. The whole Nosferatu look was a trend in the goth scene last year. Whoever installed them did a bang-up job. They feel natural when he leans down to kiss me.

He’s so damn quiet. I barely catch the shuddered gasp, but I feel his lips part against my shoulder and the hot puff of breath. His long nails press into my back, enough to leave a mark but never breaking the skin. I fuck him through it until he lets out a shaking: “please.”

Aleksei deactivates the magnet holding my strap in place. He slides down my torso, and his tongue is hot against my belly as he licks the cum from my skin. “Fuck, baby,” I groan. 

It’s then he hesitates and glances up at me. There’s an expression that I can’t quite place, and before I can really register it, it’s gone. I’m saved from his gaze when he goes down on me. All of his attention is on my dick and slit. That weird look is forgotten the second his tongue starts probing in deep. 

It’s not until we’re laying there, pressed close on my twin mattress, that he asks: “Why did you call me that?”

It catches me off guard, and I find him looking up at me from where his head rests against my chest. Those cold green eyes and their candlelit pupils bore right into me. “I dunno. It felt…” How do I even begin to explain it? It’s just something that slipped out. Something I thought sounded hot at the time. “It felt right, I guess.”

He still stares at me, but he’s not focusing on my face. There’s a distant look in his eyes, and then he simply says: “Xорошо.”

It’s then it clicks for me: Russian. He was speaking Russian earlier. I only know enough to ask which arm someone wants blood drawn from and if they’re allergic to latex. Language chips are expensive, so I’ve tried to memorize enough phrases to get my job done. Though now I sorely wished I’d had one, just to know what he’d whispered to me earlier. I could ask, but the alcohol has worked its way out enough that the shyness has wormed its way back in.

I didn’t expect him to stay. Most one night stands last about as long as a nap or shower. Sure enough, he gets up to rinse off, but rather than dressing afterward, he slides back beneath the sheets. He never asks, and I never push. We wrap ourselves up in cheap sheets that still smell like sweat and sex. Aleksei’s body is warm, except for his hands and feet.

It’s been so long since I haven’t had to take anything to help me sleep. This is the first time I’ve slept and not dreamt of that night, or of being chased by that thing. If it lurked in my dreams, it wasn’t enough of a presence to remember when I woke up to the alarm beeping at us.

Aleksei buries himself beneath the blankets, blocking out the light as I get up. After texting Celine and Mercury to let them know I hadn’t been kidnapped for my organs, I start getting ready for work. All the while, Aleksei’s a lump, curled up in a little ball beneath the covers.

I close the window shade and pull the sheet back to see him wince at the light from the open bathroom. The glasses help, but it’s weird, and almost funny, seeing him naked in just those mirrored aviators. He seems a bit out of it, and moves sluggishly. A lot of that grace he had last night is gone, and his long limbs are a bit uncoordinated as he stumbles to the bathroom once I’m finished in there. 

It’s a shame we don’t have time to have breakfast together. I’d love to see him slowly perk up with some instant coffee, to share food with him, even if it’s just some microwaved oatmeal packets.

In the morning light, he looks out of place. It isn’t how he’s dressed, or anything. Just something about him seems off in direct sunlight. It doesn’t help that he seems miserable. He’s not able to catch it quick enough, and I watch him swipe at his cheek. His eyes are watering. 

As we wait at the bus stop, I take his hand. It feels silly to think about, but just the simple act of having his hand in mine makes my stomach flip flop more than it had when I first invited him in. My thumb rubs across his knuckles, and I hear the noise again, though he cuts it short as if he’s embarrassed at being caught making it.

It’s painful parting ways there, but we leave with the promise of another date. He has my number, and I have his. Before he steps through the door, he leans down and kisses me. “You will call after work, yes?”

“The second I’m out that door, baby,” I say, and can’t help the smile when his pale cheeks flush.


End file.
